


Did You Miss Me?

by DoreyG



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint/Clara can be a bit of a creeper, Coulson encourages this, Cunnilingus, F/F, Genderswap, Porn Battle, dressing up, ~Feelings~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She opens her eyes, <i>groans</i> in the darkness of the room. The clock flashes a clear 02:01 on her bedside table - she went to bed only two hours ago, has to get up in another three and was quite looking <i>forward</i> to this miraculous five hour rest.</p>
<p>…Not that Clara cares, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Miss Me?

“Did you miss me?”

She opens her eyes, _groans_ in the darkness of the room. The clock flashes a clear 02:01 on her bedside table - she went to bed only two hours ago, has to get up in another three and was quite looking _forward_ to this miraculous five hour rest.

…Not that Clara cares, of course.

She perches on the edge of the bed, like she usually does – brown hair free over her shoulders and red lips curved up into a smirk. A quick glance confirms no serious injuries, a slight stiffness at the left shoulder but that’s really to be _expected_ , and apart from the freeness of the hair (Clara usually prefers it to be as tightly tied back as possible, or cut very close to her skull) the only thing off appears to be…

Ah.

“I thought,” she says carefully, pushing herself up on her elbows for a better look at the red miracle, “that that was _Natasha’s_ area.”

“You still haven’t answered my earlier question, Phil,” oh, that pout is _ridiculous_ \- she feels fully justified in arching her eyebrow at it until it goes away “…And can’t a woman branch out? Reach new horizons? Try new jobs? Wear new _things_?”

…The eyebrow becomes multi-purpose, she can feel her face flatten.

“…There were two missions that required dressing-up and being charming at the same time,” as can Clara! Judging by the roll of her eyes, and the faint smirk upon her face as she ducks her head, “I was put on the less important one by Fury, since I’m apparently a lot better at shooting people in the face than acting like a proper person.”

“ _Natasha’s_ a lot better at shooting people in the face than acting like a ‘proper person’,” she reminds softly, biting back on a fond smile with all her many years of practice “…But she hides it a lot better, I suppose.”

“And has a lot more fun doing it?”

“ _Debatable_.”

…Clara gives up, returns to grinning at her with full brightness. It’s an expression charming and wondrous – she, of course, immediately ignores it in favour of moving on to far more practical concerns.

“But _possible_ ,” she has to keep herself in check, after all. No matter how wonderful it can be, and it truly can be better than anything else in the whole wide world, spending all your time flirting with one of your top agents is _never_ good for a healthy working environment, “considering how miserable you look in that dress. What did Fury manage to get on you this time?”

“A whole history” …That grin _is_ strong. Only the briefest shadow passes over Clara’s face, and then she’s right back to grinning so brightly that the sun might turn green with envy when it rises, “do I truly look miserable?”

“In a general way,” she answers carefully, a little cautious of that sun-rivalling grin, “yes, I think so. You’ve certainly looked happier.”

“Have I?”

“ _Numerous_ times.”

“ _Interesting_ ” …She should’ve been a little more cautious of that sun-rivalling grin, right up to the point of building a fort and locking herself right in the centre, “would I look happier if I was _out_ of the dress, do you think?”

…A castle.

A _Death-Star_.

“And so the true reason for your visit becomes revealed,” she says wryly, sitting up even further and resting her hands ever so casually in her lap, “’Hi, Phil, did you miss me? I missed you too, totally, do you want to get naked and preferably sweaty now?’”

“Do you want to get me out of this _dress_ and sweaty,” Clara amends, but still with that grin that requires a Death-Star to guard from it (or more than that, considering that Clara is the type to pull a Luke Skywalker and ruin all her plans), “though, since I’m a wonderfully kind person, if you want to get naked and preferably sweaty yourself…”

She huffs.

Frowns.

Rolls her eyes…

Oh, there’s no point in really denying it (Clara will become as bouncily annoying as some rodent if she doesn’t give in near immediately). The clock reads 02:13, she has to get up in two hours and forty seven minutes. She rolls her eyes again, stretches out her arms and pulls the happily squirming body of Clara right down on top of her.

The dress is a pretty looking concoction, but one not actually that complicated. It’s as easy as anything to get her fingers underneath it, slide them slowly up Clara’s thighs… And then yank quickly, pull it over her head before she can do anything more than flail and snort laughter through her nose. The whole thing puddles smoothly on the floor, a tranquil pool of red. Clara turns back to her and- Oh, no underwear. How _fortuitous_.

“And so your true reason for visiting becomes clearer and clearer by the moment,” she amends wryly, not giving any protest beyond a gentle pinch of Clara’s collarbone followed by a _slow_ stroke down her sides, “my, Clara, I never knew you were so-“

The tease is cut off, and quite embarrassingly too, by Clara _ignoring_ her in favour of getting her pyjama top open and sliding it down her arms until her entire chest is revealed. Usually, meaning every single day apart from the rare ones where she’s been looking forward to _five whole hours_ of sleep, she’d be wearing underwear – but today, what with that five hour factor, she has absolutely _nothing_ on underneath and her nipples harden the moment they hit air.

“…I-“

Clara ignores her, yet again. Makes a simple sound of delight and ducks her head, nuzzles between her bare breasts for a long few moments and then opens her mouth and… _Oh_.

Her nipple is immediately encircled in warm, wet heat. The type that she summons to mind whenever she’s bored or cold or potentially about to die. The type that lulls her to sleep at night. The type that, and don’t tell Stark this, she’s slightly _addicted_ to - _especially_ when it comes from Clara. She arches her back, with a noise that’s shamefully guttural – digs her heels into the mattress, allows her eyes to slam shut and _buries_ her fingers into Clara’s thankfully thick hair.

…It’s a good thing that she’s trained, though.

She allows the show to continue for about a minute, and then shrugs and ever so smoothly flips them over. Clara, more naked than her and thank the lord, is taken by surprise – thuds back into the mattress with a blink and a glare and a _squawk_ that really shouldn’t be endearing… But reminds her so much of an actual hawk that it really is, “Phil!”

“My apologies,” she purrs, ever so smoothly. And reaches between Clara’s legs before she can say a single thing more.

She’s already wet, like she’s been looking forward to doing this for a while. She imagines her stalking around the windows, watching her bedtime routine, waiting (and continuing to watch) until she finally dropped off to sleep then using her key to slip in… And smiles, strokes from top to bottom in one long motion.

Clara’s face has already changed, gone tighter – a touch more firm. Her shoulders have set, one hand claws loosely in the mattress as the other digs into her now bare waist, and her feet are braced on the bed like she’s planning to immediately escape. She looks, as is customary for Clara, like she’s about to _leap_ into flight at any moment-

…But her eyes are glittering. Bright and alive and seeming to contain a hundred thousand stars.

And that’s enough to make her carry on, reverse the sweep from down to up and lean in for a kiss that’s returned with _gusto_.

They’ve known each other for long enough now to be well aware of what they like. She sets up a slow rubbing rhythm – one that doesn’t _quite_ touch anything vital, but brushes just close enough to tease. It’s a slow, sweet torture that they’re both exceedingly found of – and it shows as Clara slowly eases underneath her, makes a blissfully pleased sound and arches up into her mouth.

She allows, although _allows_ is rather an understatement, the kiss to carry on for a long few seconds before breaking it – leaning back a little to take in Clara’s expression. Finding it happily blissful, as it _should_ be, she allows herself the briefest of smiles – ducks to mouth at that long stretch of neck before moving on to phase _two_. She starts to press a little harder, turning the leisurely strokes of her fingers into purposeful circling that plunges her deeper and _deeper_.

…And Clara stiffens again-

But it’s only briefly, and barely even worth a panic. She soon eases even further than before, breath coming out in a long huff. Raises one of her smooth, pale legs and hooks it around the back of her ankle – binding them together even surer than before. Making it _impossible_ for her to break away.

…Well, practically. But that’s rather besides the point. With this obvious sign of approval she moves her attentions up a step – shifting slightly up to run her teeth over the edge of Clara’s ever so sensitive jaw, and wasn’t _that_ a great discovery, and moving her fingers just that little bit _up_. The little nub of the clitoris is easy to find, practically waiting for her – she runs her fingers over it once, just to feel Clara start, and then properly gets down to business. Circling it, gently pressing it, repeating the motions again and again just to hear the other woman _whimper_ and _whine_ and _writhe_ -

And Clara’s leg tenses around her.

And Clara’s eyes go wide.

And Clara’s mouth forms into a perfect ‘O’ shape, one brilliant and divine and likely to trace her memories for many days in the future-

And Clara _comes_. Quite simply, quite smoothly – with a sound a little bit like she’s just seen the face of God and desperately, _desperately_ , wants to get back to it as soon as humanly possible.

…She waits for a long few moments before drawing back again, with a smirk. Cleans off her fingers by sucking them into her mouth, tasting the indefinable flavour of _Clara_ as she does so, and then settles back onto the bed. It takes a long few moments before the woman opens her eyes again, squints up at the world in a slightly desperate way and then rotates her head in the pillows until she’s staring right over at her.

“Hi,” she says brightly, in the chirpiest tone that she’s ever been able to summon up, “are you alright?”

“…Right,” Clara replies, rolls on top of her and gets rid of her loose pyjama bottoms before she can even say a word, “ _right_.”

The slither down her body is quick and efficient, but not neglectful. There’s a peck against her jaw, an open mouth down her throat, the scrape of teeth across her collarbone, the glorious rasp of a tongue down to and over her breasts, an entire _embarrassment_ of pleasures making her twitch and breathe and barely hold back _moans_ as Clara and her lips trail lower and lower and lower until-

She settles between her legs, quite warm and quite wet. Grins up for a long few seconds before lowering her mouth and plunging _happily_ in.

And… Oh. You wouldn’t expect a woman like Clara to be good at something like this, considering that her main skill is undeniably with her hands, but she _really_ is. The touch of her tongue is electric, dizzying her from the very first _swipe_. She sets the tone with a few quick and easy licks, ones that leave her more breathless than ever, and then- and _then_ -

Plunges fully into the business of the day, so swiftly that she has to reach down yet again and bury her fingers back in Clara’s thick hair. The woman licks with enthusiasm, with a _purpose_ that might surprise Fury if she was ever stupid enough to tell him about this. She traces letters with her tongue, squiggled half words that soon drive her so close to the edge that she can’t even pay attention anymore – she thinks she catches an L once, an O, the teetering edge of a V…

But then, before she can pay any further attention to the end of that word, Clara moves _on_ yet again. Lower this time, to the place where the merest ghost of a breath is enough to set her trembling. She can’t hold back a yelp when Clara’s tongue touches gently against her entrance for the first time, _just_ manages to hold back a gasp when it progresses to tracing a slow circle around her ever so gently… And then loses it _completely_ when she plunges right in without a single warning. Fire races up her spine, stars tremble behind her eyes. There’s a feeling of something glorious and wonderful hovering in the air around her, _just_ out of reach-

_And_ -

Clara has _just_ time to withdraw and circle around her clitoris, returning the favour in a way, before she half-explodes. Coming with a shout and a flop back to the bed that leaves her hair over her eyes and a low, happy buzzing in her veins that might even carry her on for the rest of the long, long day.

…Ah.

_Ah_.

It takes a long few moments for her to open her eyes, and when she does Clara is sitting on her thighs and staring down at her with a hopeful sort of look. The only thing she can do is smile again, grin again, drag her back down until her cheek is resting upon her breast and they’re so entwined that it’s going to be _hell_ to untangle themselves in the morning.

…And whisper, “I _did_ miss you,” into that brown hair.


End file.
